


volte-face

by en passant (corinthian)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fury had this way of suggesting things — it wasn’t really a suggestion, but everyone knew that they were going to do it anyway. So when he comes by Clint’s place — brings flowers for the missus, a jar of vintage steel nails and bucket of lacquer for a wood floor — Clint knows he’s going to say yes, anyway.</p>
<p>“Don’t think of it as owing them,” Fury suggests and he may as well be winking with his one eye and slow grin. Clint knows there’s no way to think of it as anything other than that. His ledger doesn’t have the same feel as Natasha’s and they keep different tallies, but he does what he can when he can.</p>
<p>And this is something he can do.</p>
<hr/>
<p>AU -- Clint, Wanda and Pietro take a trip after the events in Age of Ultron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	volte-face

Fury had this way of suggesting things — it wasn’t really a suggestion, but everyone knew that they were going to do it anyway. So when he comes by Clint’s place — brings flowers for the missus, a jar of vintage steel nails and bucket of lacquer for a wood floor — Clint knows he’s going to say yes, anyway.

“Don’t think of it as owing them,” Fury suggests and he may as well be winking with his one eye and slow grin. Clint knows there’s no way to think of it as anything other than that. His ledger doesn’t have the same feel as Natasha’s and they keep different tallies, but he does what he can when he can.

And this is something he can do.

—

They’re skittish in the same way any punks Clint knows are. Pietro’s bent by his hobble — two bullets shattered his kneecap, another the tip of a low rib and all his core muscles are sore with injury and surgery — but he makes sure to puff his chest and carries himself like a threat. A half a step behind him Wanda moves with deceptive slowness. She keeps her shoulders rolled forward, each step is deliberate and they haven’t let go of each other’s hands since Clint picked them up.

“Well, we’ll be staying here for the night before we head out,” Clint gestures towards the abandoned house with his shoulder. It was a halfway point between the middle of nowhere and the edge of farmland.

“How quaint,” Wanda says and shares a private murmur with Pietro. Whatever she says makes Pietro laugh.

Clint notices that it’s Pietro who enters the house first, but with Wanda leaning to the side, to see around him. It doesn’t sit right with him, not with Pietro who must have been scout and escape route before changing his role to shield. But it’s not as though Clint doesn’t recognize the way Pietro holds himself — protecting his sister has always been his job and he isn’t going to quit it now.

“Your taste in safe houses is very quaint,” Pietro echoes his sister’s earlier words, “It is not so bad.”

“He means, it’s very quiet.” 

“Quiet is not such a bad thing.”

“Is this the kind of place you feel safe?”

The twins trade words, back and forth, and then turn to look at Clint in eerie unison. 

“Just get some sleep, it’s a long ride tomorrow.”

—

Wanda gets up before Pietro, she has dark circles under her eyes and instead of sitting at the kitchen table she stands in front of the coffee machine. She plants herself firmly, shoulders tossed back and when Clint descends from the upstairs bedroom he realizes she’s much easier to see without her brother around.

“He still sleeping?” Clint asks.

“It was not a good night,” her reply is sour. “He does not want to take the medication.”

“Being a tough guy about it?”

“It makes him sleepy.” She exhales, softly at the same time the coffee machine beeps. Without asking she grabs two mugs from the cabinets, fills them and offers one to Clint. “What would you do if you could no longer draw a bow?”

“I’m a man of many skills,” Clint shrugs.

Wanda laughs at that, a harsh but quiet sound. He wonders where she learned to laugh like that. It might have been when she was ten and the bomb ripped through their apartment. Or later, when the streets of Sokovia were used more for tanks than cars.

Of course, there’s always the question of the Scepter, the enhancements and the kind of person that emerges from the end of a change like that. Steve had mentioned something like that offhand, between drinks or on long nights in the dark when Natasha pulled inward, Bruce left and Tony found solace in the bottom of a bottle. _No regrets. But you can’t say that I was the same person as I was back then._

“Then you do not have to fear losing one thing that is everything.”

Wanda pours another cup of coffee and goes to rouse her brother.

—

The drive through Indiana is slow and so boring it’s painful. Clint drives — neither of the twins has an American license and neither of them drives cars. Wanda mentions that she does know how to drive a tank and a motorcycle and Pietro simply shrugs. He’ll have to look into getting a license, Clint makes note of it. 

“Fury wanted me to introduce you to America, get you settled. But I don’t know what you do or don’t know.” Clint says, on the fourth day of their trip.

The twins are in the back of the car, Wanda’s head is on Pietro’s shoulder. Pietro murmurs to his sister and she shakes her head. 

“This is not our first time in your country,” Pietro says. “But it is our first time in your farmland.” It sounds like a joke.

“We do have cows, in Sovokia,” Wanda offers. “It is not so unique.”

“We will not destroy your city, if we are to go there next,” Pietro shrugs.

“You’re not war prisoners,” Clint turns up the music. The radio picks up whatever local channel it can, streams oldies from Indianapolis and in another hour it switches to alternative rock from Dayton. In the rearview mirror he can see the twins exchange looks every now and then.

—

On the seventh day, Wanda lets go of Pietro’s hand to buy a satchel at a flea market they stop at. It’s red faux leather and matches her coat. Pietro scrutinizes it, turns his head this way and that. His whole posture says that he thinks she could do better than a $3.60 bag but in the end he smiles and says it looks nice on her.

Clint gets them all elephant ears and cider, tells them to not spill or get crumbs on the car floor and continues to drive.

—

In Pennsylvania it rains so hard they pull over at a rest area off the turnpike at eleven at night. Pietro’s leg aches and he lays down across the back seat with his face turned towards the seat cushion. Wanda stays perfectly still for the first twenty minutes, the only movement is the way her eyes track into the dark rain — back and forth.

“I will go and get something from your vending machines,” she says, abruptly and opens the door to the rain. Clint can see her red silhouette for a moment. He doesn’t miss the way her hands make fists or the furious and anguished expression on her face before she enters the stone vending-and-restroom building.

“She is quite mad,” Pietro says. His voice is softer than normal, edged with prickles of pain that make his accent rougher. “She will be very wet when she returns.” He is already digging into their bags for towels, one to spread across the seat and one for her.

“What’s she so mad at?”

“This. Me. You.” Pietro waves a hand at the weather. “It is no good to do nothing.”

“We’re just waiting for the storm to pass.”

“Ah, but what if it does not pass? Things that are not in your control will never be. Even if you are given the power to change them, where does that leave you? It has left me a cripple and my sister in a difficult place. This much you should understand.” Pietro sits up and leans back. He shuts both eyes and shrugs. “It is not so hard on me, I made my own decisions in this.”

“Hand me one of those towels, yeah?” Clint reaches back.

Wanda only returns once the rain has ended. They are still the only car in the parking lot and Clint opens the driver’s side door.

“This’ll be pretty different from driving a tank, and I doubt Fury will reimburse us if we crash. We’ve got some time to kill though, so,” he gestures at the wheel.

Wanda stares at him, and towels her hair. She must be thinking, for as long as she spends carefully squeezing the rain out of her hair and then jacket.

“After you learn, I will take my turn.” Pietro says.

That decides it for her.

—

There is an ugly scar over Pietro’s knee and a handful of pock marks on his thigh. The bullets that ripped through his muscle and bone have no bearing on his reflexes. He drives too fast but could probably recite every color car they pass, even going eighty. Wanda is a much more reckless driver than her brother but Clint finds them both to be quick learners.

“I’m sure the Avengers will get you licenses and you can experience the joys of rush hour traffic like the rest of us.”

“We need a faster car,” Pietro has been energized by the driving. The twins take turns sitting shotgun, though they still keep their hands touching or one will lean the chair back into the other’s lap.

“This one is regulation, if you want something better you’ll have to work for the big bucks.”

“Being an Avenger, hm?”

“What do you avenge?” They speak almost simultaneously. 

“There’s a lot of bad stuff in the world. Which means there’s a lot of good stuff that got screwed over. It’s as easy as that.”

“That is hardly easy,” Wanda almost snorts. “And what has been bad is not so easy to see either.”

“We all make mistakes, so part of our job is to fix our mistakes.”

“Some are too big.”

“Some things can’t be fixed, that’s true.” Clint shrugs and adjusts his hold on the steering wheel. “So then what? Then you just have to do better next time.” It was too easy to talk to the twins like he would his kids. Even though Wanda and Pietro were much older, there was a receptiveness to both of their faces. He had heard it — that they hadn’t had parents since they were ten — and it shows.

“You can not have all the answers,” Wanda turns her face toward the window. Clint can’t see her reflection or her face but he imagines it’s the calm facade she puts on when she is unsure but doesn’t want to appear weak.

“And if there is no next time?” Pietro asks.

“Well, why dwell on that? We’re here right now.”

—

Philadelphia still carries some of summer’s heat, when they enter the city. Wanda abandons her jacket and Pietro switches to short sleeves. Clint introduces them to philly cheesesteaks, they go to the aquarium and a museum. Neither of the twins look like they’re having much fun but instead of walking side by side they each choose a side of Clint to stick by the entire day. Wanda to his right and Pietro to his left.

—

Pietro sleeps through the New York City portion of the drive. His leg aches too much and he relents and takes the pain medication and falls asleep in the back seat. Clint hates driving in New York and he spends most of his time sliding a _dammit_ in between his sentences.

“And what will you report back to Fury?” Wanda asks.

“That he owes me like five hundred in gas money. — Dammit.” 

“That is not what I mean.”

“Asking if this was a test for you and your brother?” Clint shrugs. “It might have been, but not one that Fury told me to do explicitly. You kids will do all right.”

“ ‘You kids will do all right.’ “ She echoes him.

“You’ve been in most of our heads, can’t say that’s something we like to say, but if we weren’t such a mess there wouldn’t’ve been anything for you to use against us, right? Technically, we’ve all worked for HYDRA as well. Are you going to get hung up on what you messed up on again? Remember what I said in Sovokia?”

“Do you remember that I was born there? It was my city.” Wanda is defensive, she drums her fingertips on the dashboard. “I am not a fool. I can do this job, we will do this job.”

“Fury’s going to regret letting me take you on a road trip. Your brother’s going to be a killer getaway driver.” 

“This is all, then?”

“The job never ends, it’s a difficult job. Sometimes you know you won’t make it out. You’ll make a new home somewhere — you will, because that’s what people do when they’re alive. Even people without a past or people who think they’ve let go of their roots. But we do it because it’s needed.”

“There is more, then.”

“There’s always more.”

Clint turns out of the city. Upstate is only a few hours away.

“You kids will do all right.” He repeats.


End file.
